Put a Ring on It: A Novel

By Allison Hobbs

From the bestselling author of Double Dippin’ and Big Juicy Lips—a story about three friends with three different paths to the same goal: a husband, despite the dismal odds.

Desperate to be married, Vangie, Nivea, and Harlow are all on a quest to get to the altar. And they’ll do anything to fight the obstacles on their way to walk down the aisle.​

Nivea was ready to settle for less to get married, but when she finds out her fiancé has been keeping secrets, she begins a destructive course of action, as she begins to self-medicate with excessive amounts of liquor.

Struggling to keep her household from sinking, Vangie is tired of raising her son alone. So when Vangie’s deadbeat baby daddy resurfaces, begins courting her with unrestrained zeal, and spends quality time with their young son, she thinks that they have finally healed their troubled relationship.

After a horrifying childhood, Harlow believes she has finally found true love when she becomes engaged to savvy businessman, Drake Morgan. But she’s kept her past a secret, convinced that he would recoil if he knew the truth. Little does she know, Drake may also have a secret that could destroy Harlow’s only chance at happiness.

Though holding distinct views and relying on diverse strategies, will any of these women find love, happiness, and commitment, or will they discover that happily ever after is an unattainable dream?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strebor Books
• Release date: Jul 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781451618037

Allison Hobbs

Allison Hobbs is a national bestselling author of more than thirty novels and has been featured in such periodicals as Romantic Times and The Philadelphia Inquirer. She lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Book preview

ZANE PRESENTS

PUT A RING ON IT

Dear Reader:

What can I say about Allison Hobbs other than she is phenomenal? There are very few writers that I can say that I actually admire. Allison is on the top of that list. She is a powerhouse of a writer and she keeps churning out one masterpiece after another; year after year. It is always my pleasure to personally edit her books the second they are turned in. Put a Ring on It continues to excite and entice my literary palate.

Lately, there has been much emphasis placed on women seeking that diamond ring; to be validated by marriage. Books, songs, movies, you name it; the controversy has exploded. Now the three women in Put a Ring on It: Vangie, Harlow, and Nivea, scramble to see who can make it to the altar first. But making it down the actual aisle is the least of their problems as they have to contend with baby’s fathers who make disappearing acts, fiancés who get tied up with blood diamonds, and a younger sister’s love interest who would rather have sex with his sister-in-law to be. Scandal, drama, lust, surprises and shockers. All the signature elements of an Allison Hobbs novel are contained herein.

Allison’s next book is right behind this one; titled Scandalicious. What a sexy title! Make sure to check it out this fall. Also make sure that you join Allison on Wednesday nights as she conducts her weekly chat at 10 PM EST on PlanetZane.org. The topics are always sensual and on point.

As always, thanks for supporting myself and the Strebor Books family. We strive to bring you cutting-edge literature that cannot be found anyplace else. For more information on our titles, please visit Zanestore.com. My personal web site is Eroticanoir.com and my online social network is PlanetZane.org.

Blessings,

Zane

Publisher

Strebor Books

www.simonsays.com/streborbooks

ALSO BY ALLISON HOBBS

Lipstick Hustla

Stealing Candy

The Sorceress

Pure Paradise

Disciplined

One Taste

Big Juicy Lips

The Climax

A Bona Fide Gold Digger

The Enchantress

Double Dippin’

Dangerously in Love

Insatiable

Pandora’s Box

Strebor Books

P.O. Box 6505

Largo, MD 20792

http://www.streborbooks.com

www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2011 by Allison Hobbs

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

ISBN 978-1-59309-360-0

ISBN 978-1-4516-1803-7 (ebook)

LCCN 2011928016

First Strebor Books trade paperback edition July 2011

Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com

Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs

1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Manufactured in the United States of America

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

DEDICATED TO KHA’RI JOHNSON

I love everything about you: your big beautiful smile,

the sound of your laughter, your braids, and even

your obsession with wrestling.

No one else in the world could make me

sit still and watch wrestling matches.

But I do it for you!

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

About the Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my friend Daaimah S. Poole, thank you for eight years of friendship. The support you’ve given me is deeply appreciated.

Cairo, you are so sexy and smart. I call you the male version of Zane. So glad you’re in my life. I cherish our friendship.

Nakea Murray, thanks for running all over New York with me. I couldn’t have navigated the Big Apple without you. The Hudson was so magical! We have to run around Fifty-Eighth Street in our PJ’s one more time!

Jason Frost, my fellow Sagittarian, premier book reviewer, and also my dear friend.

Keith Saunders, this cover takes my breath away. Thank you.

To my publicist at Simon & Schuster, Yona Deshommes, I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me. But I won’t get mushy because I know it irks you. LOL

Charmaine Parker, I miss you! Thank God I’m going to see you in Jamaica!

Zane, I usually don’t give a darn what anyone says or thinks about me…but when it comes to you…I CARE! Thank you for that matrix-like turnaround with the manuscript. You’re incredible!

Karen Dempsey Hammond, thank you for helping me with numerous cover concepts, book titles, and for helping when I’ve written myself into a corner. You’ve been by my side throughout my literary journey and years before it ever started. No matter how hard I try, I could never repay you for all you’ve done for me.

CHAPTER 1

Call it a woman’s intuition. Call it a sixth sense, but instead of driving home after work, Nivea felt an urge to swing by her fiancé’s old apartment.

When she rolled up in front of the building where Eric used to live, she gave the place a smug look. Eric’s former apartment building was a dump. She had no idea why he’d been so resistant to the idea of moving into her upscale townhouse.

But that was water over the bridge. She had introduced Eric to a better lifestyle and she was proud of that fact.

Nivea did a double take when she noticed the Highlander parked at the curb. Her heart rate began to accelerate when she recognized Eric’s license plate. What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to be working overtime.

With the motor running, she jumped out of her Mazda and removed a couple of lawn chairs that were holding someone’s nicely shoveled parking spot. Brows joined together in bafflement, she parallel parked, cut the engine, and then got out.

Nivea peered up at the second floor apartment that Eric had left six months ago when he’d moved in with her. She could see the twinkling colored lights that adorned a Christmas tree. She frowned at the Christmas tree. It was the first day of December, too soon to put up a tree in Nivea’s opinion.

Eric had sublet the place to one of his unmarried friends. Which one? She couldn’t remember. Feeling a rush of uncomfortable heat, she unbuttoned her wool coat, allowing the frigid evening air to cool her.

There had to be a good explanation for Eric being here. Something really innocent. He didn’t have to work overtime after all, and decided to stop by and visit his buddy, she told herself.

Even though moving into Nivea’s townhouse was a step up for Eric, it had been hard convincing him to give up his crappy bachelor’s pad. She was so elated when she’d gotten him to agree to move in, that she hadn’t bothered to question him about the details of his rental transaction.

But she was concerned now.

Carefully, Nivea climbed the icy concrete steps that led to the front door. Inside the vestibule area, another door, this one locked, prevented her from forcing her way to Eric’s old apartment. She read the name that was centered above the doorbell of apartment number two: D. Alston.

Who the hell is D. Alston? She jabbed the doorbell twice, and then pressed the button without letting up.

She heard a door open on the second floor. Stay right here. Let me handle this, Eric said gruffly.

Who the hell is Eric talking to?

Eric thumped down the stairs, causing a vibration. At the bottom of the stairs, he looked at Nivea through the large windowpane that separated them. She expected a smile of surprise, but Eric gawked at her, displeasure wrinkling his forehead.

He turned the lock, cracked the door open, and poked his head out. Whatchu doing here, Niv?

I should be asking that question. You’re supposed to be at work!

Yeah, um… He scratched his head.

Who’s renting the place now?

Uh…

Refusing to give him time to gather his thoughts, she pushed the door open, and zipped past Eric.

You can’t go up there, Niv.

Hell if I can’t! Nivea took the stairs two at a time, the heels of her boots stomping against the wooden stairs. Eric was up to something, and she had to know what the hell was going on.

Eric raced behind her. He roughly grabbed her arm. You outta pocket.

She yanked her arm away and spun around. Let me go, Eric! Eric was a big, stocky man, but she gave him such a violent shove, he fell backward, stumbling down a couple of steps.

Motivated by a suspicious mind, Nivea bolted for Eric’s apartment, which was at the top of the stairs. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open.

A woman, who appeared to be in her early twenties, stood in the kitchen, clutching a baby. One glance told Nivea that the woman was street tough. Hardcore. She was not cute at all. Light-skinned, reed-thin with a narrow, ferret-like face. The Kool Aid red-colored weave she was rocking looked a hot Halloween mess. Anger flickered across the woman’s mean, sharp-featured face.

Who are you? Nivea asked, hoping to hear, I’m Eric’s cousin. Hell, she was willing to accept childhood friend, or even long lost sister. She’d happily go along with any relationship, except jumpoff. She stole a glance at the baby that was buried beneath blankets.

The skinny chick looked at Nivea like she had sprouted a second head. How you gon’ bust in here axin’ me who da hell I am? Her bad grammar and attitude confirmed Nivea’s suspicion that the chick was a hood rat.

Nivea scanned the kitchen quickly. The appliances were as outdated as Nivea remembered, and the cabinetry was still old and chipped, but the room was spotlessly clean and somewhat better furnished than when Eric had lived there. Nivea took in the rather new, but cheap-looking kitchen set that had replaced Eric’s old one.

The female tenant had tried to brighten up the dismal kitchen. Matching potholders and dishtowels were on display. The former dusty mini blinds that had once hung at the kitchen window had been replaced with ruffled curtains.

What is Eric doing here with this ghettofied heifer and her child?

As if she’d read Nivea’s mind, the thuggish chick turned toward Nivea. Holding the baby upright, she gave Nivea a full view of the infant’s face. Nivea felt her heart stop. The little boy, who looked to be around four or five months old, was a miniature replica of Eric.

Oh, my God! Nivea squeaked out. She grimaced at the child who was Eric’s spitting image.

Okay, I’m imagining things. That child can’t possibly be Eric’s baby!

CHAPTER 2

Eric barreled into the apartment. Nivea suspected he had been hanging out in the hallway, trying to get his lies together.

You need to check yourself, Nivea. You know you dead wrong for running up in the crib like this.

Nivea was stunned that Eric, her gentle teddy bear, was growling at her like a vicious grizzly bear.

Nivea stared at the baby and then at Eric. She swiped at the tears that watered her eyes. What’s going on, Eric?

The skinny chick bit down on her lip, like she was struggling to control her temper. I’m not with this shit, Eric. You better handle it.

Eric tugged Nivea’s coat sleeve. This ain’t the time or the place, Niv.

Have you lost your mind, Eric? You told me you were at work. I need to know what the hell is going on. Get your coat! She motioned with her hand. Talk to me on the way home. We’re out of here! Nivea waited for Eric to go get his coat, but he didn’t budge.

The ghetto chick snickered, and then looked down at the baby. Don’t worry, Boo-Boo; Daddy ain’t going nowhere.

Daddy! No way! That is not Eric’s child, Nivea told herself. With a hand on her hip, she glared at Eric. Who is this bitch? And why are you here with her?

"My name is Dyeesha. I ain’t gon’ be another bitch, bitch. I don’t know who you is, but you trespassing." The woman with the bad grammar spoke in an annoying scratchy tone, her nostrils flaring as she furiously patted her baby.

Eric! Tell this girl who I am! Nivea spoke through clenched teeth.

Looking like a cornered rat, Eric was at loss for words and could only come up with utterances and sputtering sounds.

How you expect him to remember the name of e’ry hooka he done slept with while I was pregnant with his son, Dyeesha said with a sneer.

The abrasive sound of the girl’s voice, her assumption that Nivea was a stripper and a prostitute, and her terrible grammar… it all grated Nivea’s nerves. For the love of God, will you please tell this ignorant-ass, ghettofied, hood chick who I am! Nivea yelled.

As if his lips were sealed with Super Glue, Eric was mute.

Ghettofied! You da one acting ghetto. Dyeesha contorted her lips. For your information, I’m Eric’s baby mama. In a few weeks, I’ma be his wife. Dyeesha shot a hot glance at Eric. I can’t believe you let one of your tricks run up on me like this.

Stop calling me a trick! You’re not marrying Eric. I am! Our wedding is in June, Nivea shouted.

Dyeesha grabbed the doorknob. Keep dreaming. Now bounce, bitch. Take your trick ass back to that strip club you crawled out of.

Nivea stared at Eric. Are you gonna just stand there while your jumpoff insults me?

Dyeesha snorted. You da damn jumpoff! Now take your home-wrecking activities somewhere else! Dyeesha tried to pass the baby to Eric. Hold your son cuz I’m ’bout to go on her trick ass!

Nivea gasped. She wasn’t expecting to get into a fistfight with a street tough thug chick.

Eric calmed Dyeesha by rubbing the length of her willowy arm. I told you, I got this.

The gentleness in Eric’s voice, the tender strokes he delivered to Dyeesha’s sweater-covered arm…and the baby! It was all too much to bear. Hotly jealous, Nivea felt her anger rising like steam. She pounced on Eric, trying to claw at his face. You lying, cheating, broke ass, no-good scumbag. I should have never got involved with a damn warehouse worker!

Dodging Nivea’s fingernails, Eric tossed her off of him, knocking her into the fridge. Too wound up and too furious to feel any pain, Nivea kept fighting, jutting her kneecap upward as she aimed for Eric’s groin, which in her opinion, was the real culprit in this triangle of lies and deceit.

She missed the intended mark, but Eric grunted in pain as Nivea’s kneecap rammed his inner thigh.

Get that bitch, Eric. Fuck her up, Dyeesha goaded.

Holding the baby, Dyeesha followed Nivea and Eric as they scuffled along a short hallway, ending up in the small living room.

Stop acting crazy! Eric demanded as he grabbed Nivea by the shoulders and gave her a brisk shake. To Eric’s credit, he hadn’t actually hit Nivea; he’d merely tried to restrain her.

Nivea maneuvered out of his grasp and landed a hard slap across his face.

Ow! Shit! Eric rubbed his cheek.

Dyeesha sucked her teeth. Hold the baby, Eric, so I can whoop that ass.

I got this! Eric insisted as he lunged for Nivea.

Swinging both hands, kicking, and scratching, Nivea was prepared to fight to the death. She wasn’t leaving the premises without her groom in tow. In the midst of the squabble, Nivea noticed a series of photos in silver frames. There was one with Eric holding the baby. Another with Dyeesha and the baby, and the third silver-framed photo held a family portrait.

Feeling lightheaded, Nivea stumbled, bumping into the small Christmas tree that sat atop a table, the one she’d seen twinkling through the window.

Three red and white stockings were thumb-tacked to the wall: Eric, Dyeesha, and Eric, Jr. was printed in glittery letters.

Nivea punched Eric in the face. His large form toppled the Christmas tree. Glass balls shattered. Mini lights crashed against the floor.

The baby screamed. Dyeesha pressed the baby against her bosom. Bitch, I know you don’t think I’ma let you fuck up my family’s first Christmas together.

Eric pulled himself to his feet. Get the baby out of here. I got this, Dyeesha, he mumbled, picking up the dwarfed tree, trying to get it to stand up straight.

You better get this trick outta my house before I call the cops.

Stop calling me a trick. I’m his fiancée. Nivea held up her ringed finger as proof.

Dyeesha looked at the diamond ring and snorted. Pole dancers make lots of money. You bought that bling and put it on your own finger.

Nivea drew in a breath. The truth hurt. She had put the expensive ring on her credit card, telling herself it was okay as long as Eric made the payments, which he hadn’t done at that point. And with this horrible turn of events, it wasn’t likely he’d be making any payments in the future.

Eric stepped in front of Nivea. What’s wrong with you, girl? Why you tryna make me hurt you? He drew his lips together in a threatening manner. Nivea couldn’t believe her eyes or her ears. What the hell? Eric had been such a pushover. The way he always let her have her way had endeared him to her. Now he was threatening to hurt her.

When were you going to tell me about your secret family? On our wedding day?

He ain’t marrying you! Dyeesha hissed.

Oh, yes he is, Nivea insisted. She knew that she should have turned around and walked away the moment she saw that baby’s face, but she had put so much time and effort into Eric…into her wedding, she couldn’t walk away.

In an act of desperation, Nivea reached for Eric’s hand. We can discuss this at home.

Refusing the gesture, Eric placed his hands behind his back.

I guess you didn’t get the memo, trick. The only wedding that’s going down is mine and Eric’s. Dyeesha rolled her eyes at Nivea. Tell her, Eric, Dyeesha coaxed.

Eric lowered his head. He stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, and began jiggling change. He spoke in a low tone. I should have told you about Dyeesha. I can’t go through with it. The wedding is cancelled, Niv.

Dyeesha puffed up with pride. You hear that, trick! Your imaginary wedding is cancelled.

The wedding is cancelled! Nivea opened her mouth and began shrieking as if someone had thrown a pot of boiling oil in her face.

The baby screamed along with her.

Yo, get a grip. You scaring the shit outta my son, Eric said.

But you don’t have any children, Nivea replied dumbly.

That’s my son, Eric confirmed. I wanted to tell you but I ain’t know how.

Any normal bride-to-be who was getting hit with one bombshell after another would have been lying prone on the floor, while awaiting an emergency ambulance team to rush in and recharge her heart, but Nivea didn’t have time for heart failure. She appealed to Eric’s sense of reasoning. My gown, Eric. What about my wedding gown? I’m scheduled for my next fitting in a few weeks.

Eric blinked at her, held his hands up in the air.

Dyeesha’s mouth was twisted, like she’d eaten something rotten. Don’t nobody care about your raggedy-ass gown. You better get your damn deposit back. Eric’s not leaving me for you or any other trick-bitch.

Dyeesha’s slanderous words had lost their sting. Nivea was deep in thought. Like a broken record, the wedding is cancelled, repeated inside her mind.

It was unbelievable that Eric had been leading a double life. Nivea tried to imagine sitting her parents down, and telling them this horror story, but it was too humiliating to ponder. She had to figure out a way to fix this awful mess.

You gotta go, Niv, Eric told her. You’re upsetting my family.

Fuck your family! Finally giving into the rage that was bubbling inside, Nivea grabbed both silver-framed photographs and sent then zinging toward Eric’s head.

Eric hit the floor. His eyelids fluttered as blood oozed from an open wound on the side of his head.

Help! Dyeesha screamed. Dyeesha raced out of the apartment and out into the hallway. Neighbors began to open their doors. Help. There’s a crazy bitch in my crib. She’s tryna kill my whole family, Dyeesha’s shrieked.

With the single thought of escaping punishment, Nivea left Eric moaning and bleeding on the floor, and ran out of the apartment.

There she is. Somebody catch that trick. Dyeesha’s voice climbed higher. Don’t let her get away!

Whizzing past several puzzled neighbors, Nivea bounded down the stairs and out the set of doors.

Nivea rushed along the slushy pavement. Slip-sliding across the icy street, she jumped in her car. A few stitches should take care of Eric’s head, she told herself. She gnawed at her bottom lip as she pulled the Mazda forward. The tires thudded against a mound of hardened snow. Fuck! She had to get out of the tight parking spot before the police arrived.

Suppose he’s dead! Nivea grimaced. The idea of doing jail time for murder was far more distressing than being dumped six months before her wedding.

Ramming the car behind her, she forcefully gave herself room. As she zoomed away from the scene of the crime, hot tears splashed against her face. Eric deserved to be dead, but for the sake of Nivea’s freedom, she needed him to live.

CHAPTER 3

If they could see me now, Harlow thought with a self-satisfied smile. According to statistics, a person with Harlow’s background was not expected to get very far in life.

Harlow sprayed her neck and then each wrist with a fragrance that was touted as the world’s most expensive perfume. Blissfully, she closed her eyes and inhaled the floral scent. A one-ounce, handmade crystal bottle adorned with a sparkling brilliant-cut white diamond on the collar, the perfume’s container was an exquisite piece of art.

Like all of her rich possessions, the sinfully expensive fragrance was a gift from Drake Morgan. Drake rented and sold exotic cars. He owned three locations on the east coast, and had recently begun increasing his fortune with online sales. Exporting luxury vehicles overseas, primarily to African countries, had become a very lucrative endeavor.

Ever since Drake had entered Harlow’s life, nothing had been the same. The past eighteen months had been like a montage of romantic movie scenes from an amazing love story.

Drake treated Harlow like a goddess, showering her with lavish gifts, and introducing her to a lifestyle that was so luxurious, she often had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t in the midst of an incredible dream.

With her hair in place and her makeup complete, she slipped into a curve-hugging blue dress, conveniently forgetting to put on panties. Smiling slyly, she knew Drake wouldn’t be able to resist such easy access to the goods.

Carrying an overnight bag, Harlow left her villa-style accommodations, and walked to the lobby of the exclusive resort.

Good evening, Ms. Grant. Your car is waiting. Efficiently, the concierge motioned for the bellhop to relieve Harlow of the travel bag. Despite his attempt at professionalism, the young man’s eyes roamed Harlow’s hourglass figure.

Harlow wasn’t offended. She was accustomed to male attention. Though her looks had caught Drake’s eye, he told her that it was her inner beauty that had captured his heart.

She slid inside the sleek black limo and relaxed against the sumptuous leather. As the car moved smoothly into the moonlit night, Harlow stared out the window, marveling at the magnificence of St. Croix: the lush greenery, the warmth.

She made a mental note to call her girls, Vangie and Nivea, and tease them. While they were freezing their butts off in Philly, dealing with blizzards and frigid weather, Harlow was basking in a tropical paradise.

Harlow accompanied Drake on his numerous business trips to several exotic locations, but St. Croix had become her favorite

Reviews for Put a Ring on It

[jerseygirl21-977813 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

She kept it going from the beginning! Allison Hobbs usually doesn't disappoint.

[oosabookclub · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Going to ChapelHarlow, Nivea and Vangie are friends with the same goal - to walk down the aisle; by any means necessary. Harlow, a beautiful woman, is engaged to her dream guy. Her only concern is if he will still want to make the trip to the altar if he finds out about her sordid past. When she gets a glimpse into some of his business dealings, she has to ask herself if he really is a dream. Nivea, a successful businesswoman, is planning an extravagant wedding to her blue-collar fiancé, Eric. She has paid for everything, including her ring, when she discovers he has a secret life. She has to decide to accept this revelation or be upstaged by her younger sister. Vangie, a single mother, is lonely and slightly jealous of her friends’ pending nuptials. She wishes Shawn, her son’s father, would get his act together and help her raise their son. It seems Vangie’s wish comes true when Shawn starts contributing more and rekindles their relationship. The only problem is he doesn’t believe in marriage. Vangie has to decide if playing house is enough. “Put a Ring On It” is well-written and flows nicely. However, it is another story about desperate, middle aged, funny named black woman who seem to think they will be made whole if they have a man. I was not impressed. I enjoyed Harlow’s side story better than the woes of the woman trying to get down the aisle. I give it a three. Reviewed by: Alicia